A Bit of Rough
by MinaBR
Summary: Kneeling at her feet, he explored the darkest desires of his soul. Bending to her will, he learned the extent of his pride. No stone is left unturned, no corner of his psyche unblemished. The bitter pill of self-awareness will test the limits of his sanity and the depth of his beliefs.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

**AN:** This story deals with delicate issues. Read at your own discretion.

_Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock._

* * *

_**... a good game ...**_

The ancient wooden floor feels raw against the too sensitive skin of my forehead. My knees are throbbing and my legs are burning with the strain of maintaining such an unnatural position. My arms are numbed from the effort of defying gravity. Muscles are cramping and bones are hurting. My ego is bruised and my mind rebels against the indignity of the situation. Logics dictate that I should get up and leave. Yet, I stay.

Anticipation and fear. I want _her_ to come. Will _she_ come? I fear what _she_ will inflict on my body, in my soul. Will _she_ hurt me too badly? I need to be inside _her_ body. Will _she_ let me? I crave the pleasure that only _she_ can give me. Will I be allowed to feel it? No, it doesn't matter. I don't matter, not anymore. It's all for _her_. _Her_ pleasure, _her_ needs, _her_ wants ... pleasuring _her_ is my only purpose.

I feel it creeping on me, that dark place of non-existence where I'm consumed by the embers of desire until there are only ashes of my former self. It's strangely liberating, being relieved from the burden of choice, stripped from any trace of pride or self-worth. I'm a thing, an object ... nothing but a writhing mass of longing.

A smile finds its way to my lips. I used to fight the strangeness of compliance, but not anymore. A long time ago I learned to accept that this is the penance for the sin of wanting _her_ as I do. Surrender is sweeter, for it means that _she_ will come to me. Yes, _she_ only comes when I'm completely depersonalized – no longer a man, merely a pleasure object.

As my soul makes peace with the predicament of my body, pain turns into pleasure, discomfort into excitement. Certain parts of my anatomy respond in kind, hardening, lengthening, aching, weeping ... It's _her_, it's all for _her_. I'm not anxious, I don't feel the need to find relief. I'm calm, collected. I'll wait as long as _she_ wants me to, because it's what pleases _her_: me, at _her_ mercy.

It's bizarre how much I yearn for this submission to something, someone greater than myself. I want to be crushed under the weight of a will stronger than my own, to be forced into situations beyond my control, to be pushed outside of my comfort zone. On the restless nights when sleep eludes me, I'm repulsed by these feelings, appalled by own weakness, nauseated by the things _she_ demands.

Many times I made promises, but they were impossible to keep – I can't stay away from _her_. I turn myself inside out, defy my own nature, stretch my boundaries to accommodate _her_ tastes because of this unholy force compelling me to be with _her_. I hate how much power _she_ has over me and how much _she_ relishes reminding me of it.

But none of these things matter, not now. Not when I hear the door opening and the click of _her_ heels approaching me.

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Don't be shy! Let me know what you think.

See you tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:**_Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock._

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_**... not as good as you ...**_

The melodic tones of _her_ husky voice assault my ears with a command especially designed to test the limits of my compliance. With my eyes obediently closed, I'm tortured by the description of the tightly laced leather corset covering _her_ body. The cavalier manner in which _she_ tells me about what such contraption does to _her_ perfect figure brings tears of frustration to my eyes. Imagining the contrast between pale skin and red leather makes me tremble with the need to see _her_ with my own eyes. Temptation flares within my chest and in lower, less civilized parts of myself.

Sensing that I'm at my breaking point, _she_ gently brings me to my feet. The influx of blood to my numbed limbs generates an arousing sensation of painful relief. No, I cannot look, but I can feel the brush of _her_ leather clad breasts against my torso. _She_ has _her_ arms around me and for one beautiful, heart-stopping minute I believe _she_ means to show me affection. But then I feel the biting cold of handcuffs securing my hands behind.

Like a predator _she_ circles me, praising the physical attributes I'm careful to maintain. _She_ has high standards, so I have to work hard to keep _her_ interested. I can't help but smile at the irony of being the one worrying about how my partner perceives my body. But between us, nothing is traditional, nothing is preordained.

_She_ is behind me and I feel the biting sting of a belt against my flesh. A moan rises to my lips, _her_ quiet laugh betraying how much _she_ enjoys driving me to the brink of insanity. I feel humiliated and demeaned, but perversely excited and impatient for more. However, _she_ is in a taunting mood, eager to deny everything I crave.

Gently, _she_ guides me to the bed. The caress of the soft Egyptian cotton sheets against my knees almost compensate for the discomfort of having my hips held high and my head held down by a metallic bar I had failed to notice until now. I feel exposed and vulnerable – the safe word comes to mind but remains unsaid. It's all for _her _... I must endure. Please, give me strength ...

It isn't the first time that _she_ explores parts of my sexuality that I'd rather left untouched. _She_ has been toying with the idea for a long, long time ... preparing me, inserting plugs, fingers. It's uncomfortable and humiliating, especially because sometimes it feels really good. It makes me feel like less of a man. It's wrong, so wrong ... so deliciously wrong.

The scissoring movements of _her_ fingers make me realize that this is it: this is the day _she_ will completely strip me from any remaining trace of dignity or self-respect. But as the tip of _her_ plastic addendum nudges the entrance to my body, I find myself eager for the novel experience of being thoroughly possessed by the woman I love.

Later, I will worry about my destroyed masculinity, but for now there are only the ripples of ecstasy and hope for an encore.

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See you tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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**_... a little cold ..._**

Sore in places a man ought not to be, I sit alone in the shadows of the crowded bar. Around me, there is only the levity of Friday night flirtation. Nobody seems to notice the dark demons within my soul or care about the despair taking hold of my heart. The memory of the acts _she_ inflicted upon my body haunt my mind, bruising the very core of my self-image. The stones upon which I built my life aren't that solid, after all. I'm no longer secure in my choices, no longer protected by the cloak of ignorance.

Feeling dejected and out of place, I think that maybe it's time to go home and wallow in self-pity. For some unfathomable reason, I linger for a little while longer, just enough to see _her_ walking into the room. Surrounded by friends, _she_ smiles serenely – a fae princess deigning to walk amongst humans. Against my better judgement, my eyes eagerly absorb the grace of _her_ movements, the beauty of _her_ shape.

On the rare occasions when I see _her_ outside "the room of doom", _she_ treats me with irrepressible politeness and overwhelming aloofness. _Her_ family and friends have no inkling of the true nature of the ties that bound us – I am someone _she_ meets in secret and keeps in shame. It's sobering how easy it is for _her_ to dismiss me as a mere acquaintance while I can barely suppress the exhilaration of being in _her_ presence.

A jolt of awareness brings me back to the present and I'm surprised to discover that _she_ has spotted me. Instead of the indifferent demeanour I came to expect, _her_ eyes seem to beckon me to come closer. Any other day I would have gladly obeyed _her_ silent command, but not today. Here we are equals. Here I owe _her_ nothing. Here I get to deny my feelings and betray my own heart.

Refraining from acknowledging _her_ invitation, I decide to stay – it's a vain attempt to deny the hold _she_ has on me. My plan is to simply resist, however destiny steps in offering me the perfect chance to exact my revenge and state my independency. The wiser part of me knows that accepting and reciprocating _her_ friend's advances is petty and childish. But no amount of wisdom can overcome the appeals of a wounded male ego clamouring for retribution.

I feel _her_ eyes on me, but I don't care. All I see is the petite woman in front of me, sweet little Alice. I need the normalcy of an actual conversation, the allure of a caring woman. I need to feel like a man, not as an emasculated piece of expendable furniture. I need a touch of my former self, the one who used to have all the answers. I need to remember that I have options and a significant amount of charisma.

I don't need _her_, not today. Today I hate _her_ for using me. Today I hate _her_ for clouding my judgement and torturing my body. Today I want _her_ to have a taste of _her_ own medicine. So, I ignore _her_ muted pleas for mercy.


	4. Chapter 4

******AN: **Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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_**... so cruel ...**_

Her steady gaze betrays no wounded feelings. My foolish heart is crushed under the realization that _she_ truly doesn't care. Hoping against all hope, I came prepared to face a tongue lashing, a beating, a reprimand. Any reaction would have been welcomed, because it would let me know that _she_ cares. But _she_ doesn't. Regarding me with the dispassion of a scientist studying an inferior life form, _she_ doesn't bother with trivial things such as greeting me.

_She_ knows how much I hate being the object of perusal – it makes me self-conscious and doubtful of my physical attributes. Those feelings are heightened by the deafening silence in this room, this nerve wrecking absence of things to distract my mind from the tension of this moment. I'm unsettled and dejected by the length of _her_ passive torture. I don't want to be here, not anymore. What's the point?

Affection isn't something that _she_ gives freely. On the rare occasions when _she_ gifts me with a pat to my head or a kiss to my cheek, I feel overcome by joy and filled with gratitude. I'm ashamed of my hunger for _her_ attention, of the way I crave _her_ approval. That's why I'm startled by the feeling of _her_ fingers running through my hair, such a gentle caress. And for the first time _she_ touches _her_ lips to mine and I am transported to heaven. _She_ cares.

I should have known better. The sound of the door opening brings me back to Earth. I'm puzzled ... _she_ is still here, I can see _her_ feet. It leads to the conclusion that someone else is in the room. My heart is thumping wildly in my chest, for I don't want another person to witness my predicament. I feel anxious, afraid ... I think about saying the word that will stop everything, but I'm not ready to give _her_ up. Not yet.

"Jasper, I want to push your boundaries a little bit. I want a friend to join us today. Since you will be gagged you won't have the opportunity to speak later. Do you trust me, baby? Do I have your consent?"

_Her_ eyes meet mine. The answer should be easy, for I truly don't want a third person in this room, but I hesitate. I want to please _her_, to make _her_ happy, to prove my devotion ... _She_ senses my inner conflict. _She_ descends to my eye level and holds my gaze. The tenderness and the need I find in _her_ face are unbearable. _She_ called me baby and I can't tell _her_ no ... It's all for _her_ and I will rip myself apart if only to keep _her_ looking at me with so much ... humanity.

On my knees, my hands tightly bound behind my back, _she_ introduces me to the spider gag. It forces my mouth opened to painful limits. A firm hand tilts my head back and I find myself staring at the face of an unknown man. As he shoves himself down my throat, I cry freely. Does _she_ understand? It's all for _her _... I'm willing to be raped if only _she_ shows me a scrap of affection.

* * *

**AN: **The **spider gag** is an open mouth gag. It has an "O" centered rig in the center, and "spider hooks" on the side which further restrain the range of movements as well as keeps the person wearing it from flipping the ring horizontally in their mouth. Leather straps and a locking buckle hold this piece in place.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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**_... not made of stone ..._**

I don't want the gratitude of _her_ gaze or the compassion of his stare. Neither can comfort my troubled mind or my offended masculinity. The need for distance is overwhelming, for only far from this place can I find the sanity my heart craves. I've endured all of _her_ trials, acquiesced to all of _her_ demands, but, suddenly, I'm questioning the wisdom of the choices I've made.

No, I don't want _her_ after care. The thought of _her_ hands on my body makes my stomach churn in disgust. No soothing caress can erase the vileness of the act inflicted upon my body. _She_ is startled by the vehemence of my refusal and by the abruptness of my departure. Any other day, I would be watching for any sign of hurt, anything that could betray some depth of feeling.

But not today. Today I'm broken by the realization that _she_ doesn't appreciate the extent of my sacrifice, the power of my surrender. I know I'm to blame, but today I don't care. Today I needed _her_ to see me as man ... to stop him from doing that to me... or at least falling to _her_ knees and saying the words I long for ... What I didn't need was to be given the look of pride a trainer gives to his favourite dog.

That thought is what brings home the full extent of my degradation. Collars, leashes, punishments ... I'm nothing but an animal, a pet which merits no love, just a slight twinge of condescending affection. In _her_ eyes, I don't merit concern or commitment, for only an equal could hope to elicit such feelings.

Is it my fault for surrendering? Is it _her_ fault for being blind to my true needs? Who is to blame when the promises are left unspoken and the questions remain unanswered? I don't know and right now I don't care, for there is only so much self doubt a man can withstand. I don't want to question my sexuality or to remember the taste of his bliss sliding down my throat. I don't want to deal with the aftermath of pleasuring another man.

I just want to walk. Walk away from my choices and the unforeseen consequences of my cocky behaviour. Maybe if I walk fast enough I can run away from _her_ and the world _she_ inhabits. No, walking is not enough. I start to run faster and faster, pounding my feet against the pavement as he pounded his intimate flesh against my lips.

Struggling for each breath, my throat constricts and I feel like I'm chocking ... just like I did when his full length was thrust inside my mouth, triggering my gag reflex. I'm disturbed by how the shameful memory is capable of causing the slightest twinge of interest on my disgraced flesh. It sickens me how my own body seems amicable to the notion of being subservient to another male.

Exhausted, I fall to the ground and tears escape the confines of my eyes. I'm mourning the death of the cocksure man who thought he could play with fire and come out the winner.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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**_... fooled enough ..._**

Kneeling before the deserted path, I feel the biting touch of winter wind. Once, I would have run for cover and warmth, but now I crave the physical discomfort, for it keeps my mind away from the turmoil within my soul. Unbidden, recollections of another winter day rise from the dungeon where I had purposely locked them. They are images of a man I no longer recognize, trying to charm an enchantress, a Lilith dressed as Eve. Memories so clear that the timbre of _her_ voice still resonates in my ears ...

"_Have you been properly trained?"_

Back then, I was a man without doubts – I was confident that in time _she_ would fall at my feet, all I had to do was play by _her_ rules for a little while. It was all a game, an exciting new game. I didn't think about what it would imply or the consequences I might endure – I only thought about the reward ... about having _her_ all for myself. The image of _her_ in my arms is what sealed my fate ...

"_Yes, of course, Madam. Mistress Maria trained me."_

Lies, all lies. Maria was merely a client who couldn't afford my fees anymore, but instead of turning _her_ away I kept on representing _her_ for it would serve my purposes – I needed a true member of the BDSM community to vouch for me and she did it without a second thought. She tried to warn me away from the lifestyle, but I was too blinded by pride and lust to realize the wisdom of _her_ words.

So, I spilled my fabricated truths with the mastery of a professional liar, entangling myself in a web of deceit while oblivious to the severity of the crime I was perpetrating. I strived to act like a follower, not the born leader I always was. I was meek, eager to please, malleable ... I was a being so foreign to myself that I smiled inwardly at my acting skills. I could see how much I pleased _her_ and it gave me a warm feeling of satisfaction.

That's when warning bells should be ringing, but I already was beyond reason or salvation. I no longer cared about telling the truth or asserting my dominance and independence, for nothing was more important than approving smile. It was one of those moments when your world shift in its axes and nothing stays like it used to be.

When we said our goodbyes, _she_ extended me _her_ hand. I felt honoured by _her_ deference and almost wept at the perfection of being allowed to feel _her_ skin against mine. The contact was brief but it contained so much promise for the future that I felt that my deception was justified, that for the first time I believed the Machiavellian notion that the ends justify the means.

For days, after the interview, the sole focus of my existence was my mobile. I spent hours staring at it, willing it to ring, to hear _her_ voice telling me that _she_ was going to accept me, to take me on ... And one day, the call came sealing both our fates.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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**_... if love was a war ..._**

Online research could only take me so far. As much as I read and tried to prepare for the "scenes", I was still too green to the reality of submitting to _her_. At first I was playing a role – it was very much the RPGs I loved so much. Inside the blue room it was easy to pretend, to let reality go out the drain and lose myself into the role _she_ had assigned me. The separation between "the real me" and "the sub me" was very much into place.

However, _she_ is a devastating force of nature – wherever _she_ goes no stone is left unturned and _she_ didn't spare me. It's almost like _she_ sensed that there was no true submission behind my actions, for I never surrendered to _her_ will, not really. The scenes began to change: they got rougher, more exacting. The demands _she_ made on my body started to take a tool on my soul causing the fundaments of my very self to erode and tumble.

_She_ was a mighty titan to my very humble self and the first stirrings of true submission, the ones that had been tugging at me since the interview, grew into full blown subservience. For a man who had once been the very definition of egoism, I was astounded to discover that the need to fulfill _her_ needs surpassed the drive to satisfy my own. And because _she_ wanted real submission I suppressed the "real me" whenever we were together – the "sub me" was my gift to _her_, to us.

Though submission was the name of the game, there were some variants that only came into play later into our relationship. Months after visiting "the room of doom" for the first time, _she_ introduced me to the flogger and the pain that it inflicted on my flesh. A healthy dose of humiliation came with being stripped naked and beaten raw, but somehow the degradation compound with the pain, creating unparalleled waves of rapture to wash over me.

Torn between pleasure and self-righteous indignation, I felt lost and despaired facing the big unknown of living an alternative lifestyle. The "sub me" lay on the floor panting in fulfilment, purring his approval at everything that had happened. The "real me" was writhing in agony, disgusted by the other's weakness and eagerness to please.

But one smile from _her_ and all conflict was gone, for the only thing my two selves had in common was lust for the beautiful woman to whom no pleasure was forbidden. A tender touch of _her_ hand to my temple made the truth violently clear: lust had morphed into something deeper, more lasting ...

Lust explained why I had stepped into _her_ world, but not why I lingered. In the name of lust, I allowed myself to play at submission, but true surrender came from another feeling. Because I fell in love with _her_, my mind created a place where I could become who _she_ needed me to be. My love was so strong that even the "real me" would shut up on those precious moments of stolen heaven when I could pretend that we were meant to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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_**... the damage is done ...**_

I get up, not as the man who fell to the ground, but as the man I once was and long to be again. My dried tears are a reminder of how low I have sunk, of how much of myself I sacrificed to my so called love. I don't want to dwell on the pain and sorrow – they are useless sentiments, reserved to the weak minded. And no matter how much _she_ tried to prove the contrary, I am strong enough to overpower _her_ influence, to free myself from _her_ spell.

Yes, I am strong, therefore I feel anger. I'm angry at myself for descending to _her_ level, for _she_ is nothing more than a glorified whore who justifies _her_ lewdness with ridiculous reasoning. _She_ is no different from the hundreds of women I've screwed in allies or seedy motels. _She_ is just a woman who merits no special treatment from me.

_She_ likes to pretend to have control. It makes me sick how I allowed _her_ to hang on to that illusion, how much I fed it by complying with _her_ ridiculous "commands". I'm stronger, smarter and more attractive than _she_ is ... willing partners are not difficult to find. _She_ is nothing to me, there are thousands of women like _her_. I don't need _her_ to rock my world – truth be told, so far _she_ has been the lousiest lay I ever had.

It isn't love. Love is a special feeling awakened by the arrival of the other part of your soul. Unlike many men, I've always longed to give my heart to that special someone. I've always pictured _her_ as a little ball of energy, smiling and pure, ready to do my bidding, happy to trust _her_ fate to my hands. _She_ isn't this woman – _she_ is unclean, tainted, unhappy ... _Her_ eyes can only convey vacant approval or slight displeasure – _she_ doesn't have human emotions.

It isn't lust either. Lust is a transitory thing satisfied by a quick tumble. I've known my fair share of lust, for I am truly a sexual man. I'm aroused by the beauty of female movements, the lilting of their laugh, the harmony of their form ... Some females I admired from afar, others from a much closer range, but never have I been consumed by the need to be with them. _She_ possesses none of the attributes I've always admired or anything that can be called beautiful or attractive.

What _she_ elicits in me can only be described as mindless obsession ... There is no reason for my fixation, no explanation as to why I can't walk away. The inanity of _her_ allure adds to my anger, for I used to be well known for having impeccable taste in women. _She_ is nothing compared to the women I used to bed – accomplished, beautiful, charming women.

I'm mad at _her_ for abusing my trust, but mostly I'm angry at myself for letting _her_ walk all over me. I need to break this vicious cycle of need and abuse – I need to walk away once and for all ... I need to remember who I am.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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_**... blood in these veins ...**_

As I walk into the fashionable night club, I can almost feel the hunger of the stares that follow my steps. Lust is almost an entity within these walls, filling the air with the urge to mate with whoever is available. The heated gazes of scantily dressed women carry sensual promises of mutual enjoyment, however I'm not ready to settle for one of these interchangeable pieces of meat.

Today, my flesh craves the novelty of innocence, the beauty of an understated doe-eyed princess. I need to cleanse my body from _her_ malevolent touch, to purge my mind from the things _she_ did to me. For once, I don't want to be disgusted by my arousal, I don't want to regret engaging in sexual acts.

Lost in my musings I almost miss the little sprite coming my way. Her smile is an explosion of energy and her speech a jumbled mess of barely coherent words. She throws her arms around my neck and peppers my face with sweet little kisses. When she pushes away and bounces on her feet I'm finally rescued from an awkward situation by the recollection of her name.

_Alice_. Before me stands the friend of my torturer, the same woman who happens to be the exact opposite of the one I wish to exorcise. She is the personification of beauty and if her awkward attempts at flirtation are any indication, she isn't well versed in the pleasures of the flesh. How I failed to notice how she is exactly the type of woman I could fall for is beyond me, but I intend to remedy the situation by making her mine.

The dance of seduction is one I mastered years ago, poor, unsuspecting Alice doesn't stand a chance. After a couple of dances that closely resembled the timeless joining of male and female, the blush covering most of Alice's visible skin betrays her need and her eyes plead for my soothing touch. She is at my mercy, but tonight I'm an unforgiving bastard on the prowl for an innocent victim.

She beautifully surrenders to my web of deceit, asking no questions, demanding no guarantees. She is mine to do with as I please, a malleable body ready to bend to my every command. The exhilaration running through my veins feeds my distorted mind with images of what I want to do to her, of how far she will let me go before she cracks.

Sweet little Alice, fulfills my every dream by simply being who she is. The exploration of her body reveals the magnificence of her attributes and the delicacy of her responses. I take my time arousing her body, for I need her to be writhing in unspent passion, begging for me. Oh, she begs beautifully, opening her legs and guiding me inside. As I push inside her body, I'm reminded of the sad truth that she isn't exactly an innocent, though she is tight enough to stoke my ardour.

And suddenly I'm a man again, for I control her pleasure as well as my own.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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**_... cry when in pain ..._**

The deep red covering the walls enhances the sexual nature of the room. A large selection of contraptions that, even though I cannot name, I know belong to me. Instruments of painful pleasure are scattered on the floor and I follow their trail to the beautiful, naked woman. Alice is on her knees, head bent and hands behind her back. She is the picture of submission, a beautiful waif eager to fulfill my wishes.

Someone stands behind the woman, a man of strong constitution whose pale skin is a stark contrast to the black leather covering his body. Light blond hair perfectly styled and vivid green eyes complete the image and I'm in awe of such male perfection. However, his eyes convey no warmth, only the malice of those who want to destroy.

I narrow my eyes and he repeats the action ... I take a step forward and so does he ... I'm floored by the realization that I've been contemplating my reflection. I want to scream and run away, but in some part of my mind I know that it would be useless – there is no point in running away from yourself. Besides, though my mind rebels my body wants to stay here ... with her ... doing despicable things to her.

Eyeing her, I adjust myself, for just the sight of her perky little breasts is enough to keep me going. I sense that we are no strangers to this scene – it's something we have re-enacted time and again. Yes, she is a horny little thing who isn't afraid to do my bidding. If she wants to offer, who am I to refuse her?

Jolting awake I run away from the bed where the woman I so shamelessly debased is serenely sleeping. I'm covered in sweat and my breath is short, for my body is still reeling from the emotions of my dream. A multitude of thoughts assault my mind, but I'm too unsettled to make sense of any of them. My heart is tormented by shame and my soul is enveloped by the darkness of self-awareness.

Finally, it downs on me, the truth from which I've being trying to hide. A very real part of me resents _her_ not for the nature of _her_ tastes, but rather because I wanted to be taking the lead. It isn't the pain or the explicitness of our encounters that angers me, it's the fact that I am the man, therefore _she_ should be the one kneeling before me. I'm aware of how sexist I am right now, but I'm unconcerned with being politically correct.

Had it not been for _her_, I would have lived a happy life without having to confront the less civilized parts of myself. Tears of despair wet my face, for there it is impossible to deny that I am not as self-sacrificing or untainted as I used to think. Though the props and scenes _she_ likes to play still do nothing for me, I very much enjoy the power games ... And isn't that the most heinous part of our relationship? The disparity between the partners, the condescension of the dominant?


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

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_**... looks can deceive ...**_

Thin arms encircle me and silky hair rests between my shoulder blades. The comfort of her embrace is wasted on a man whose soul is bathed in depravity. I don't want the normalcy of being soothed by a good woman – that's too good to the likes of me. Sweet, innocent Alice doesn't deserve to be dragged into my sordid life ... No, she is a being of light and laughter, a far cry from the sombre figures who inhabit my world.

"Jasper, don't be like that. It's okay."

Apparently, my pity-party is over and I can no longer delay the awkward conversation that is bound to follow.

"Alice, I think you should leave."

"Not yet, honey. First we must talk."

"Alice, I know you aren't exactly experienced on this type of thing, but this is how a one night stand works: we fuck, you leave."

Her burst of merriment leaves me baffled. She giggles unstoppably to the point where she is clutching her stomach and drying her eyes. What's so funny about being rejected?

"Jasper, you truly have no idea, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

She regards me with a very un-Alice like gaze, coldly analysing my reactions. It unsettles me, for she seems like a foreign entity, something that I don't care to recognize. Her once sweet lips are twisted in a mocking smile and her bubbling countenance has morphed into the well practiced moves of a seductress.

"Jasper, really, how can you be so oblivious?"

"I don't feel like playing riddles. Either say your piece or get your ass out of my sight."

"Oh, this is precious! She is going to love it!"

"Who? My patience is wearing thin and I don't think you'd want to be around if I truly lost it."

"So macho! You almost make me want to bat for the other team."

"That's it! Get out of my sight!"

"Soon enough, Jasper, but first I need to talk to you."

"Fine. Talk."

"Are you feeling better? Was this night what you needed to heal?"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"Jasper, she sent me to you. She wanted me to help you through your anger ... You know, like I did at the bar. Did it help?"

"Are you telling me that she sent you to me?"

"Mistress told me what to do and how to behave. She cares deeply about all of her subs and she knew that you would need to vent your temper."

"Mistress? What is she to you?"

"My domme, of course. Jealous? Don't be – there is no space for jealousy in our lifestyle."

"You mean to tell me that you are a lesbian? That you sub for her? That the whole time you were lying to me?"

"You have to understand ..."

I give her no time to spill more of her venomous words. I need her out of my house and out of my sight – throwing her out is no suitable punishment for the crime she perpetrated against me, but it will have to do. Repulsed by the touch of my own skin, I'm overcome by the need to be clean. I need to feel unsoiled and pure, like I used to be ...


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

* * *

**_... hard to believe ..._**

Soiled. My skin is raw and my arms are tired, but I don't stop, I can't stop. My degraded self needs to be purged from the obscenity of the acts _she_ inflicted on me. I don't want to remember the pleasure I took in _her_ perversity ... No, I need to be clean, for cleanliness is the path to holiness and I need to connect with a higher power – only God can absolve me from the sins I committed against the moral values my parents instilled in me.

The scalding water burns my body while I strive to wash away the filthiness of _her_ touch. The scrub brush that was originally meant to be used on the floor is the instrument of the exorcism I'm performing. The contact is far from pleasurable, but my ridiculous anatomy is aroused by the pain it elicits. The harder I scrub, the clearer the memories of _her_ depravity become. Another layer of soap joins the effort to purify my flesh from the disgraceful reminders of my descent into hell.

Oh, but what a sweet hell it was ... At this traitorous thought bile rises to my throat. The extent of the defilement of the man I once was goes deeper than I realized. Suddenly, soap doesn't need as an adequate cleanser – it can't erase the greasy impression of _her_ impudicity, of _her_ brazen fall into whoredom.

Repulsed by the grimy to which I had been so oblivious, I desperately seek something strong enough to make me feel worthy of being called human. Spotting the kitchen degreaser, I hurriedly soak myself in it. Whereas my skin was a pinkish hue, now it's an angry red and extremely sensitive to the touch. Betrayed by my own outrageous desires, my sexual awareness is enhanced by the blazing pain coursing through my body.

Despair consumes my soul, for as hard as I try I can't erase what _she_ has done to me. Despite all of _her_ lies and shameless manipulation, a part of me still craves what _she_ has to offer. I'm addicted to _her_ brand of pleasure, _her_ interpretation of the male-female relationship. It's hard to believe how much influence _she_ has on my libido, on the very core of my sexuality.

A voice, born in a heinous part of my confused mind, whispers iniquitous pleas for surrender. However, the saner part of me doesn't want to give up. There must be a way to get rid of the spectrum of _her_ deception, to overcome the distorted responses of my weary flesh. I wish I could bleach my brain, so the memories of the "room of doom" would never come back to haunt me. I want a clean slate, an unblemished brain and an immaculate skin ...

Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about my brain, but pray for God's mercy ... Maybe one day He will take pity on me and erase the memories of depravity tormenting my soul. My skin is another matter ... The impression of _her_ touch must be removed at any cost. As I reach for the bleacher, a smile graces my lips ... Yes, I will be clean again.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

* * *

**_... come through ..._**

The blistering heat of hell chastises my outsides, while the voice of conscience punishes my soul. A lifetime of pious teachings inured me to the hardships of purification, for pain and deprivation cement the path towards absolution. I welcome the agony meted out to my body. Smiling throughout my ordeal, I'm oblivious to my surroundings, too consumed by the idea of salvation to care about reality.

However, reality intrudes in the form of a pair of beautiful eyes that command my attention. _She_ gazes at me with an unidentifiable feeling contorting _her_ pretty face. I'm startled by the openness of _her_ stare, the sincerity of_ her_ emotion. For the first time, I'm allowed into _her_ intimate secrets, and I am in awe of the woman who hides beneath the leather costumes and the brash attitude.

Here at this moment _she_ cares about me ... and my heart swells. As pathetic as it is, _her_ regard is the balm that heals my crazed mind and my tortured soul. As much as I yearn for forgiveness, the allure of being acknowledged as a human being by such magnificent creature is too much temptation.

Like the spineless creature that I've become I succumb to _her_ charms. I don't protest when _she_ turns off the faucet, putting a stop to my cleansing ritual. The fire of virtue no longer attempts to penetrate my tainted body – it's gone, just like my will to fight the darkest side of my nature. Instead of offering half-hearted protests I bask in the glory of this moment, enjoying the fleeting moment when _her_ eyes soften into a semblance of tenderness.

The towel _she_ drapes on my shoulders feel like sandpaper against my abraded skin. It hurts immensely, but that isn't the reason for the tears in my eyes. It's _her_ gesture that demolishes whatever is left of my composure, for I'm unprepared for the gentleness of the hands I came to associate with harsh punishments.

She guides me out of the bathroom towards the bedroom. She dries me with the softness of a concerned mother, wincing at my hisses of discomfort. _Her_ empathy fills my heart with longing and reminds me of why I came to _her_ in the first place. When she is done, she sooths my abused body with some magic concoction that only a magical being such as _herself_ could ever posses.

Running _her_ fingers through my hair, _her_ lilting voice murmurs things I'm not ready to comprehend. _Her_ face is so close that I can almost feel the softness of _her_ lips against mine. The mistress still hasn't re-emerged and I'm grateful for the reprieve from _her_ cruelty. Resting my head on _her_ chest, I'm awed by _her_ fragrance, by the shape of _her_ curves pressed against me.

Lulled by the rhythm of _her_ breathing, I allow my body to relax. The war is over and I lost, but I couldn't be happier about it. As sleep overtakes me, I am taken back to the pivotal moment of my existence: the day I met _her_.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

* * *

**_... the best thing I should never have seen ..._**

It was a day like many others. I woke up late and had to give up the idea of showering. I drank burned coffee and ate stale bread, for I had no time to appreciate the delicacies of the coffee shop where I usually had breakfast. Dressing in passably clean clothes I hurried to the office, praying that my tardiness went unnoticed. No such luck and I ended up with the double the amount of work that usually was allotted to me. Frustrated, only the knowledge of how I was going to spend my evening gave me the strength to carry on.

Had it been a regular Thursday, I would have gone to the bar and picked up some girl for a bit of fun. But on that specific Thursday, I was due to volunteer at the animal shelter. Normally, I dedicated Monday's and Wednesday's evenings to my little furry friends, but since the former evening was spent with a lonely co-worker, I thought it was only fair to atone for my absence.

The work was monotonous and sometimes heartbreaking, for the cruelty of humankind knows no boundaries. Most days, I was too absorbed by menial tasks to pay attention to anything going around me. Usually, that was a blessing for it truly hurt me seeing an animal suffering. But that day, an abused kitty was brought in by one of the volunteers. Since it demanded constant care and attention, I was asked to stay by its bed.

I gladly accepted the task, for my heart ached for the poor fellow. I stayed for a couple of hours, until I was relieved from my duties by another volunteer. Said volunteer was a beautiful woman and my less honourable side couldn't help but wonder how _she_ would feel underneath me. Shaking my head at the crudeness of my imagination, I shook _her_ hand and updated _her_ on what needed to be done.

When _she_ regarded the kitty, _her_ eyes filled with tears and a sob escaped _her_ lips. Before me stood a woman who was not only beautiful, but also compassionate. Though my attempts to comfort _her_ were promptly rebuffed, I felt sorry for _her_ and tried to prolong my stay. Once again, _she_ refused my offer, quickly drying _her_ tears and stating that _she_ didn't need help facing the harsher side of life. An enigmatic smile graced _her_ lips while _she_ bade me goodbye, effectively dismissing me.

It wasn't the first meeting of epic romances, but something about _her_ stuck with me. No, I wasn't struck by lightning and my world didn't tilt in its axes. However, _she_ was undoubtedly the most alluring woman I had ever encountered, even though I couldn't pinpoint the reason why I found _her_ so irresistible.

That night, I lay awake in bed wondering about the woman whose name I didn't even know. A litany of questions tormented my mind with the impossible task of finding out the answers. Little did I know that those were the first seeds of an all-encompassing obsession that would alter everything that I believed to be true about myself.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

* * *

**_... extremes ..._**

The path of obsession knows no boundaries. Consumed by the need to know the skittish beauty with the bleeding heart, I spared no efforts in uncovering the reason behind _her_ reluctance. As impeccably polite as _she_ had been on our encounters, there was no mistaking the lack of enthusiasm in _her_ manner. _She_ had been systematically discouraging my advances, but it only fuelled my ardour.

I fervently pursued _her_, but _she_ chose to ignore my calls and evade my presence, going as far as abandoning the volunteer work at the shelter. Out of options, I started to dig into _her_ life and ask questions about _her_. Almost no one seemed to know _her_ background and those who did weren't exactly forthcoming. The harder I tried to break down the wall of secrecy surrounding _her_, the more complicated the truth seemed to become.

Desperate, I turned to a private investigator for answers. At first he was conflicted, but he just needed the right kind of incentive to overcome the moral objections my request arose. His fees were high and his methods questionable, but the results were more than satisfactory. He presented me with a complete dossier on the woman I had come to adore.

As I flipped through the pages, I was greeted by the visual story of _her_ life – the ugly duckling who grew into a swan. However, the written story wasn't as pretty as the pictures, for the words deprivation and abuse leapt to my eye, twisting my heart in sorrow for the lonely child _she_ once was. My protective instincts were triggered – I wanted to take _her_ into the safety of my arms and keep the world and its evils far from my precious girl.

As if he could sense the direction of my thoughts, the investigator's mouth acquires a sardonic twist and his eyes a mocking quality. He told me to keep on reading, for he had saved the best for last. Disgusted by the undeniable sexual innuendo in his voice, I almost closed the file and left the slimy man's office – I didn't want to be confronted with the names and faces of _her_ former lovers.

But I wasn't about to display any weakness before the revolting man. So, I chose to swallow my anger and keep on reading. I was appalled by what I read on those pages. I didn't want it to be true, for it would mean that the sleazy ball had a reason for his sardonic comment. All pride forgotten, I left his office without looking behind.

I remember walking until my legs couldn't carry me anymore. My sweet, precious fae wasn't like other women – _she_ indulged in sin, opting for unnatural acts that my mind struggled to comprehend. My tastes tended to the average, therefore I had never dwelled on the darker side of sexuality.

Although thrown for a loop, I still had the presence of mind to analyse the implications of what I had just discovered. _She_ wasn't a woman to be wooed with empty words and pretty flowers. Seducing _her_ would require crossing the lines between what I had always deemed acceptable and the big unknown. Unbeknown to my reeling mind, my heart had already made the choice.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN:** Betaed by the lovely Laurie Whitlock.

* * *

**_... break my heart ..._**

Blissfully encased in _her_ warmth, my eyes open to a brand new world. The struggles of the past are buried under the willingness of my surrender, the power of my desire to please _her_. Free from the concepts of male supremacy, my lips finally remember how to smile. Happiness is no longer a void promise or a far away memory – it is my present and I intend to make it my future. Acceptance has always been the key, but pride blinded me from the beauty of the path meant for me.

Realizing that I'm awake, _she_ caresses my shoulder and smiles softly. The moment is filled with unadulterated magic, my heart swelling with hope for a brighter future. The man I used to be has withered and died under the strain of fitting into the uncomfortable mould of an alpha male. My reborn self is ready to be whatever _she_ deems desirable, for _she_ is a mighty Goddess, and shaping my amorphous personality is _her_ divine prerogative.

A shrilling sound disturbs our peaceful moment. _She_ closes _her_ eyes and gets up from the bed, telling me that _she_ will be expecting me in the living room. It isn't the voice of my mistress, but it also isn't the one that, last night, gently coaxed me out of despair. Without thought or doubt, I get dressed and follow _her_ request. It is obvious that _she_ was expecting someone – I'm mildly curious as to why _she_ called someone here.

From the couch he rises, the man who has unwittingly prompted my descent into hell. But he is also the instrument through which I was forced to confront my idiosyncrasies. For just one second our eyes meet, mine conveying welcome, his sorrow and loss. Confused, I look at _her_, but _her_ countenance betrays nothing.

"Jasper, I pushed you too far and for that I am sorry. Obviously, submitting to another male is something you don't want to do, so much that it caused a nervous breakdown. In your eagerness to please me, you failed to consider the repercussions of your acquiescence. You will be punished for that, but not right now – your body and your soul need to heal first.

"That's why Edward is here. I realize that you must have been working under the misconception that he is a dominant, but he is not – he is one of my subs. He performed the scene at my request, Jasper. All the time you were together, it was me dominating both of you – understand that.

"I know I've wounded the very core of your maleness, that's why I am offering you the opportunity to regain your pride. You will penetrate Edward's body and he will bend over for you – it's the greatest act of submission a man can perform. You will be the bigger man, Jasper."

_She_ believes that I need to desecrate a man's body in order to savage my bruised ego. _She_ doesn't understand that, until a second ago, I was ready to cease existing as an independent being just to fulfill _her_ every desire. My heart is breaking because _she_ doesn't see that all I've ever needed is the healing power of _her_ love; that _she_ has already saved me. But all further consideration will have to wait, for my body betrays the slightest twinge of interest in possessing another man.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: **Thanks to the lovely Laurie Whitlock for betaing this story.

* * *

**_... I bleed and I bruise ..._**

In the middle of my living room, kneels a naked man. His eyes downcast, he shamelessly displays his excited body to my perusal. It isn't the sight of male flesh that rises my interest, but the surge of power that comes from knowing that he is under my control. He is a powerfully built man who is currently acknowledging that I am the dominant male ... The fact that he is the very man who emasculated me, only adds to the dark pleasure of treating him as something beneath me.

Condescendingly gazing at him, I wonder if she would allow me to penetrate his mouth. Seeking for confirmation, I look at her and somehow no words are needed – she understands me. Her smile turns feral, for she wholeheartedly consents to my request. For the first time, I feel the weight of her approval, the bliss of being able to please her. Granted the role of a Dom, I'm amazed by the eagerness I feel growing inside of me.

Ordering him to open up, I'm pleased to see the quickness of his compliance. After months of being denied this sort of attention, I am eager to feel a soft mouth surrounding me. Without looking at him, I lose myself to the sensation. Something about me must have betrayed that my orgasm is near, for she calls me back to earth, reminding me what the purpose of this scene is.

Slightly ashamed by my loss of control, I tell him to get to his feet – it is time for him to bend over the couch. For a staggering second, he breaks from his assigned role and let's his eyes meet mine. There are many emotions swirling in his eyes, but the one that catches my attention is the hesitation that lets me know that his is new to him ... that maybe he doesn't truly want to do this ... that perhaps, just like me, he does it for her ... to please her... to make her love him.

This precious little second yanks me out of the clutches of my darker passions. It doesn't matter the roles we play, the truth remains that we are the same man. We share the obsession of conquering the absent heart of the unfeeling woman we so foolishly love. His eyes echo my innermost fear – that all my efforts are lost on her, for she truly is incapable or unwilling to return my feelings. She emulates affection when suitable to her needs, but is she truly able to feel them?

Looking into her eyes I find no answer to my question. Instead, I understand what the scene I've been enacting is truly meant to accomplish. She means to turn me into a version of herself, to strip me from everything that makes me human. Repulsed by the idea, I turn away from her. My first impulse is to run, however I am disinclined to prolong my suffering. The time for passivity is over, now it's the time for choices.

"Edward, get dressed and leave. I need to talk to Isabella."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: **Thanks to the lovely Laurie Whitlock for betaing this story.

* * *

**_... crash and burn ..._**

"Jasper, I haven't given you leave to ... "

"I don't care, Isabella. From now on, your rules no longer apply."

Taken aback, she narrows her eyes, but refrains from commenting. Edward is already dressed, standing hesitantly by the door. He has a pleading look in his face, he obviously abhors the idea of following a command Bella hasn't expressly approved. Sighing, she regards him with blatant disdain and orders him away. Has she ever directed that venomous look at me?

"Now that boy toy number two is out of the way, we will have a very long, very honest conversation, Isabella."

"I don't appreciate your disrespect, Jasper. There will be consequences to your impertinence."

"You seem to be labouring under the illusion that we are still in a Dom/sub relationship. Well, let me enlighten you: we are not – I'm through with that."

"Ending the relationship is one of the sub's prerogatives. Good day, Jasper."

"No, darlin', not yet. Sit down, I need answers."

"I don't have to answer to anything."

"True enough. But I'll say my piece and you will listen, because I'm a human being and deserve to be treated as such."

"Are you accusing me of treating you badly, Jasper?"

"Don't look so amused, darlin'. I know that beating the living shit out of me has always been your reason to be in this relationship, but it has never been mine."

"If you don't like what I have to give, why did you stay? Or better yet, why did you enter our arrangement? I've never deceived you – you've always known where my preferences lie."

"No, you have never lied to me. I entered this relationship, arrangement, whatever you want to call it, out of my own free will. But this is the trick, isn't it? Because we chose it, we don't get to complain.

"But I'm complaining, Isabella, because I thought you'd come through for me. Silly as only a vain man can be, I believed that I could conquer your heart ... that I could make you love me, like I love you."

"You don't love me. You don't know me. Don't you dare lie to me."

"You are right: I don't know you. But you know what? The little I do know is disgusting enough."

"I am a Domme, Jasper. I make no apologies for who I am."

"I am not asking you to. It's just that I've come to the realization that you don't suit me; that I don't understand your needs; and, to tell you the truth, they disgust me. But I could have learned to live with that. I could have overlooked your sadism and your multiple partners, if you had given me your heart. All I needed was your love, because you have all of mine.

"But you don't have a heart, Isabella. You don't have a soul – not even a tainted one, like mine. You are not human."

"Jasper ... "

"I don't want to hear your empty words anymore. It took standing up to you, for me to realize that even though I love you, I don't want you. It's over."

She quietly leaves the house without uttering a single word. Surprisingly, there are no tears in my eyes, though saddened by the confirmation of my worst fear – whereas I had given her my love, she didn't have any to give me in return. I will never be with the love of my life, but I feel like myself again, and that ought to be enough.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: **Thanks to the lovely Laurie Whitlock for betaing this story.

* * *

**_... maybe someday ..._**

As the inexorable passage of time lessened the pain of betrayal and the void within my soul faded to a dull ache, I was finally able to reconcile with the past. Refraining from dwelling on what cannot be changed, I accepted my choices, but refused to repeat them. They were born out of unhealthy feelings for an unattainable woman and the longing for possibilities that, fortunately, never came to pass. The nature of my attachment to Isabella remains unclear, but, for whatever reason, no other woman has ever inspired such violent emotions in me.

Nevertheless, my heart didn't wither and die – somehow, it survived the wounds caused by my entanglement with Isabella. Seduced by the sweetness of an unexpected encounter I was reminded that there were genuinely good people in the world. Esme was a gentle woman, of understated beauty and unwavering devotion whom I met when we were both arrested after a protest in defence of animal rights. It happened without effort or thought, we simply found ourselves in a relationship.

There weren't violent feelings simmering between us, just the softness of indisputable regard and deep admiration. We shared our lives with easiness, everything simply falling into place – it felt like an apology from the harpies of fate for the whole Isabella debacle. We smiled but never laughed, disagreed but never fought, made love but never fucked – our union lacked passion and fire, but I couldn't complain. In Esme's arms, I discovered the profound joy of being loved by a woman, of trusting her with my life and being trusted with hers in return.

It progressed as expected: I proposed, she accepted. Our families and friends were overjoyed, for they said that our love was the kind that only existed in fairy tales. The greatest part of me concurred wholeheartedly with their assessment – I was a blessed man. Esme was the epitome of female perfection – beauty untainted by "improvements", wisdom devoid of smugness, softness backed by an iron will.

However, in the farthest corner of my mind, the man who had dabbled with dark pleasures lay dormant. Only when freed by the lack of conscious thought, did he make his voice heard, his opinions known. In my dreams, I was assaulted with the vivid memories of the time when I called Isabella my mistress. And against my will or better judgement, I was reminded of how much I missed kneeling at her feet, crying for release while begging for a scrap of affection.

Those dreams always left me panting and needy, my body throbbing for things that disgusted my mind and offended my soul. To my everlasting gratitude, Esme never asked me difficult questions, instead she simply comforted me, softly lulling me back to sleep. Within the sanctuary of her arms, the demons of my past were chased away. But it only took the slightest distance between our bodies for my dreams to return to the putrid desires of my repulsing flesh – and only there I felt complete.

It's undeniable that Isabella will forever remain the best thing I should never have seen, for even now, as I stand at the altar waiting for my bride, a part of me longs for the sight of my former mistress' unforgettable face.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: **Thanks to the lovely Laurie Whitlock for betaing this story.

* * *

**_... only human on the inside ..._**

As I walk away from Jasper, I'm disconcerted to realize that there is a feeling of loss and emptiness growing inside of me. Attachment isn't something I desire or encourage, but apparently, some point along the way, the scales of power had changed and I had lost my much prized control. A voice that sounded remarkably like a younger version of myself, begged me to stay and convince him to stay with me.

I can't afford to compromise on this situation, otherwise the threads of my life would unravel, leaving behind only confusion and vulnerability. However, following the path I had chosen would mean giving up on someone for whom I had developed a certain amount of fondness. For a fleeting second I contemplate what it would be like should I choose to walk away from my lifestyle ...

Marriage, kids, love ... A pang of long forgotten longing lances through my heart, reminding me of the dreams I used to entertain as a teenager. No, I cannot go down that road, for life has irrevocably changed me. Despite the desperate pleas of the girl I used to be, I can no longer find contentment living as a faithful wife and devoted mother. My needs are much darker than what a conventional husband could possibly satisfy. And that's what Jasper was always meant to be: the loving husband of a vanilla housewife.

Awareness of that fact had tempted me into testing his limits. I was entertained by his naiveté, by his obvious belief that somehow he could "heal" me. It all started as an amusing game, but soon I could see that it had changed into something much darker. A part of him craved the pain and humiliation I so gladly provided, although the greater part of him rebelled against it – his inner struggles appealed to the beast within me.

Flattered by his devotion to me, awed by the extent of his submission, I failed to consider the repercussions of the emotional pain he was feeling. As a result I'd had to deal with his melt down – a very unpleasant way to spend the night. Had I been a decent human being, the sight of his raw flesh wouldn't have aroused me – but it did. Valiantly refraining from acting on my urges, I spent the night considering how I could help him achieve a more manageable state of mind.

Maybe I'm just angered by the monumental failure of my plan. I'm not used to my desires being thwarted by an unexpected bout of self-esteem. Maybe I should turn around – I'm fairly certain that Jasper would take me. All it would take was opening my heart to the possibility of loving him. It sounds, so simple ... so appealing ... As I stare at my house, I wonder if I could really be happy living behind a white picket fence.

Opening the front door, I notice the man kneeling at my feet. At the sight of his eagerness to please and readiness to fuck, I forget the gloomy thoughts that had been occupying my mind. A tiger can't change its stripes ... Putting the annoying events of this morning behind, I order my pet to follow me – it's time to have some fun.

* * *

**AN: **And this is the end ... Thoughts? Don't be shy!

**Thanks for reading!**


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